Hero Sneakers
by blockedthewriter
Summary: I still haven't figured out exactly what a faggot is, but I know it's not good and that kids laugh at you when you get called one, and I know that me and Mattie definitely ain't one—whatever it is. A F/A/C/E family oneshot.


Hero Sneakers

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I really, really, really, ain't scared. Not even a little bit. Bigger kids don't scare me, and 'specially not stupid, bigger, fourth graders. I could punch a fifth grader right in the face if I wanted to, so I definitely ain't scared of some measly old fourth grader. Kids really know not to mess with me, and they 'specially know not to mess with my little brother. I don't like nobody messin' with my brother. Only_ I_ get to do that.

Besides, I'm a Hero, and heroes save people—they rescue them from bad stuff, so I _have _to watch out for my brother.

"I ain't scard'a you!" And I make sure to yell it real loud, even though the other guy is kinda close, just to make sure he really hears it.

"You _sure_?" He asks, and he gives me the worst sort of smile. It's the kind of smile you only give people when you're making fun of them. I wanna tell him that, "Yeah, 'course I'm sure. How could I be not sure? What do you think I'm some kinda idiot or something? I know what I'm scared of and what I'm not, and I definitely _ain't_ scared a' you." Then I'd go right up to him and poke him in the chest and tell him, "Get outta my sight," and he'd go running real fast to his Momma then. I'd be just like Superman, a real hero.

But anyways, I don't say none of that stuff, cause Mattie's behind me and he keeps shaking me and holding onto my shoulder, and he's shaking so much that it's sorta making me shake too, and I can't hardly talk right when my voice box goes all shaky, so instead I just stand there staring up at his stupid ugly face.

I swallow the spit in my mouth.

"You guys are all faggots," he tells me, like I ain't never heard that one before. Well I kinda haven't—not really—at least, not to my face anyway. That's the sort of thing you you hold in until the person you wanna make fun of ain't around, and then you say it under you breath anyway, so only your friends can hear you, just in case. Of course, I always can hear them anyway.

"We are not!" I still haven't figured out exactly what a faggot is, but I know it's not good and that kids laugh at you when you get called one, and I know that me and Mattie definitely ain't one—whatever it is.

"Yes you are! My Dad said so himself! Your family is weird—you guys are freaks! Everybodyknows it!"

I can admit it, my family is _kinda _weird. I mean, my parents have two different accents, and Mattie and Papa know French. I mean, sure, there are kids at school who speak Spanish and all, but that's normal. Who the heck knows French? And there's other weird stuff too, like how me and Mattie never get to have friends over, or use the play-doh on the carpet, or like how everybody thinks Daddy can't cook, but really, his food isn't _that_ bad.

But this kid—and I don't even know his stupid name—he can't know all that kind of stuff. So why the heck does he think we're weird anyway?

He's moving closer, and I really would punch him right in the face, but he's really tall and I don't wanna miss and then I would be super embarrassed.

"You're not supposed to have two Dads, that means they're faggots! And if they're faggots, and they got kids—that means you guys're faggots too!" Then he pushes me. I don't even realize it until I'm sitting on the ground staring up at him with a skinned knee. Mattie ain't behind me no more either. I really would jump right up and hit him, I really would, it's just that Daddy always tells me that stuff like that ain't proper, and I don't wanna get in trouble when I get home. That's all. Really.

"That don't mean they're faggots!" I scream at him, and it really doesn't. Just cause I got a Dad and Papa instead of whatever everyone else has got, that don't mean they're faggots.

"Yes it does! I even asked my Dad and he said it!" I start chewing on my lip. If a grown-up said something like that, it might really be true, but I still don't even know what faggot is, and he's probably making it up anyway. _He_ probably doesn't even know.

"You're a liar, and you're stupid! You don't even know what a faggot is!"

"I know that you're one!" He shouts, and he's really about to sock me, I can tell. I start standing up because I really am gonna hit him this time, I swear—I really am.

"Get outta my face!" I scream up at him, but he acts like he don't even hear me.

"Why, what'a you gonna do about it, _faggot_?" I hatehearing that word. Even if I knew what a faggot was, and even if I was one, I would still be mad—I just know it somehow.

It just makes me so mad. Like he's any better or cooler cause he's got a Dad and a Mom. Who cares about something stupid like that anyway?

So maybe my brother is a cry-baby who still needs a night-light, and so maybe my Dad really is an awful cook, and so I couldn't pick up on French like Mattie—and I really ain't even jealous about it! So Daddy wouldn't buy me those sneakers that I really wanted that light up when you walk, and so I had a Daddy _and _a Papa—so what!It doesn't mean we're weird, and it _definitely _don't mean we're faggots!

"I'm gonna punch you in the face if you don't stop callin' me that!" I'm really screaming now, because I really just hate jerks like this, I really, really hate 'em. I know if Daddy had bought me them light up sneakers I would'a already done it. Those are the sort of shoes heroes wear, I can tell. I bet Superman had sneakers just like that when he was in third grade. I bet he didn't even have to ask for his Daddy to buy 'em, I bet he probably got 'em for Christmas.

"Go ahead, I dare you," he says, and that's just it. I'm so mad. So I reel back super far, and I miss. I freaking miss! And it's all his fault for being so stupid and gigantic and tall in the first place! He doesn't even miss a beat. He socks me so hard by face snaps in the other direction. I can feel the blood run down my chin from my busted lip.

I don't wanna waste no time so I just start charging at him; I'm so freakin mad. I just wanna knock his two front teeth right out of his face. When my fist finally connects with his face, I'm hoping they're his grown-up teeth too, so he'll always have a big gap right in the front of his mouth, and everybody'll make fun of him and he'll never have any friends.

But I think the punch hurts me more than it hurts him. My knuckles scrape against his teeth and I think they tore up the skin on my knuckles and I'm probably bleeding. I don't even care. I push him real hard, but he doesn't back up too much, just staggers a little bit like he's about to fall, but then he catches his footing.

"I'm gonna get you for that one!" He shouts, and starts runnin' toward me. I can feel my eyes widen. I charge.

For once, I'm glad he's bigger than me, cause my head goes straight into his gut. He falls back on his ass. Daddy doesn't know I say ass, but that don't matter right now. He's on the ground trying to catch his breath, wheezing and gasping for air. I don't even feel bad. Really I don't. He deserves it. I wanna call him all sorts of names, tell him _he's_ the faggot, and then kick him in his teeth until they really are knocked right out of his mouth. But I don't. He's lucky, cause Mattie's still there.

"Al, I think we should go," he says. And he's probably right. I turn to the guy, and he's pretty much recovered I guess, but he don't look like he's about to come at me, so I just stand there.

"You leave my brother alone," I tell him. And it better be the last time I ever gotta say it to him. He doesn't say anything. He just sits on the ground crying like some big cry-baby, but that's what he gets. _He_ started it. He's just lucky that_ I'm_ the hero. Heroes ain't supposed to kill people, just teach'em a lesson.

Well he better have learned this one.

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That night when I'm laying in bed underneath my my Batman sheets, I turn my head to the right, and whisper as loudly as I can with it still being a whisper:

"Mattie?" He can't be asleep yet. We only laid down a few minutes ago. I stare at his bed, squinting the darkness; his sheets were from the movie Toy Story.

"_Mattie?_" I call out again. After a few moments of silence that feels like forever, I hear him turning and then finally his eyes open, and the white part seems almost glow-in-the-dark.

"_What?_" He sounds kind of annoyed. He really likes to sleep. Daddy says we're opposites in some ways.

"What's a faggot?" I ask him, and I really hate asking him too. I hate it because I know_ I'm_ supposed to know more stuff, that _I'm_ supposed to be the big brother, not the other way around. _He_ should be asking me. Except even if he did ask me, I wouldn't know what to say.

"Who cares, just go to sleep."

"So you don't know?" I prod. I really gotta know. I can't go back to school not knowing.

"I uh—I think..." I know he knows now. I can tell. He always gets all stuttery when he don't wanna say something. He just don't wanna tell me. He probably just wants to keep all the information to his self, so that I look dumb at school. I know that kid's gonna tell everyone what happened, but probably change everything up so it seems like he wasn't the one left crying on the sidewalk.

"Tell me!" I urge.

"I think it's like, when men, um...have—you know—when they do_ it_." Oh. That sounds disgusting. Why would anyone want to do _that_?

"Why would people do that? I thought it was for, like...making babies or something..." Mathew shrugs like he doesn't even care. How could he just not care? Doesn't he wanna know?

"So you don't think Daddy and Papa do that kind of thing, right? 'Cause we're adopted."

I wasn't so sure how those two things were connected, but I knew they were somehow, that they meant something. Maybe they adopted us cause they thought doing it was gross too, and they were like best friends or something. That makes sense, right? If I could, I would live my best friend too. I'm never bored when Kiku's around.

"Probably Al, who cares, just go to sleep already." _Probably?_

"Probably what? They probably do it?" That is so gross. They would never do anything like that! They pack me lunches for school and cook me breakfast in the morning and buy me all my clothes. Daddy even watches cartoons with me on Saturday! How could they go behind my back and do something so gross?

"Don't all parents do it? To make their kids?" Mattie seems very uninterested. He doesn't even seem grossed out. I'm not positively sure what _doing it_ means either, but I just know that it means s-e-x, and that you ain't supposed to talk about it, so it _must_ be bad. Plus, it has something to do with your private parts, and you're not supposed to show them to anybody.

"Yeah, but, don't you need a girl for a baby?" I insist. Besides, if Daddy and papa adopted us, what did they need to do _that_ for?

"Who cares Al, I'm going to bed." Then he just rolls over! What the heck!

"Mattie, _Mattie!_" I would get out of bed and shake him, but sometimes there's stuff under my bed, and it's not like I'm scared or nothing, but what if the monster under my bed follows me all the way to Mattie's? He would be really scared then. Mattie's not a hero like me, and he probably wouldn't even be able to sleep at night.

"_Mattie!_" I say it one more time, just in case he decides to wake back up and talk about the issues we have at hand. He doesn't. How could he just go to sleep when our parents really, actually, could be doing _that _in their bedroom.

"Papa!" I start yelling, cause I know that he's a lot more likely to come and get me than Dad is. I wait a few seconds before shouting it again. "_Papa!_" I would get up and go get him, but the lights in the hallway might be out, and I don't wanna bump into anything and break it and get into trouble.

Surprisingly, it's not Papa who walks in, it's Dad. I sigh.

"Al, what do you need?" I sigh again.

"I was calling for _Papa_," I tell him, in case he misheard me. I don't think he did though. Papa and Daddy aren't words that sound too close together.

"Papa is busy right now, what do you need?" I swallow. I really don't wanna ask him, cause I feel like it's a word I'm maybe not supposed to say and that he'll yell at me.

"Uh, Dad..." I suck in a big breath, "What's a fag?" Saying fag doesn't seem as incriminating as the whole word. I really hope I'm not gonna get in trouble. I stare down at my hands.

"It's a cigarette," he says, and he doesn't correct me or tell me not to say it or nothing. He looks away. I think that maybe he's not telling me something. Daddy can be like that.

"But Dad—" then Papa comes in, peeking around the door, and I think, _now_ I can do this.

"What's the problem?" He asks, and then he tacks on something French to the end. I don't know what it is though. It's not fair that Mattie learned French so fast, but the best I can say is _oui_ and _bonjour_. It's just impossible to remember.

"Nothing, Al just wanted to know—"

"Papa, what's a faggot?" This time I say the whole word, because if Papa's there, I probably won't get into _too_ much trouble.

He clears his throat.

"I already told you, Al, it's a cigarette." He seems frustrated. I would believe him, but that just doesn't make any sense. There's no way that everyone at school can be running around callin' each other _cigarettes_. That's just stupid.

"Arthur—" Papa says, giving him a look. I don't know what that look is supposed mean, but it makes me a little nervous.

They sit down beside me on the bed, and I can't believe that with all the noise Mattie isn't waking up. I kinda can believe it though, cause he_ is_ my little brother. He can sleep through thunderstorms.

"Where did you hear a word like that?" Papa asks me, and I sit up straight in bed. I really don't wanna tell them that someone was calling him and Daddy that. Firstly, cause I know it ain't true, and secondly, cause I don't wanna hurt their feelings.

"Well, cause, uh...someone at school said that me an Mattie were—" I see the looks on their faces, and I really do feel bad. Parents got a way of just looking at you and making you feel like dirt sometimes. Like when I had to have them sign that spelling test that I got a forty on.

"I beat him up for it though! He probably won't ever do it again!" Daddy sighs and covers his face with his hand, and Papa laughs. See, Papa's never as angry.

"Blimey Al, what did I tell you—"

"But, Dad, I_ had_ to! You don't understand, _he started it!_" It's not like I just walked up and socked the guy in the face or anything, _God_.

"You were antagonizing him—" Daddy starts, but then he stops when he sees how confused I am.

"Bothering him. You were bothering him, weren't you?" See, Daddyalways thinks everything is my fault, and really, it isn't. Not always.

"No, I wasn't! He was saying that me an' Mattie were faggots cause we got you an Papa instead of a Mom! I told him that don't matter, and yous weren't, but he said that his Dad said it, so it had to be true—" Dad looks really strange all of a sudden. Almost like he's sad or something, so Papa cuts me off and starts explaining everything instead.

"A faggot is just a mean word to describe a gay person," he explains finally. But I still don't get it, and I must look stupid or something, cause he keeps explaining. Thank God for Papas, you know?

"A gay person is someone, who, ah, likes someone of the same gender. So it is man who likes other men, or a woman who likes other women." I swallowed. Mattie _was_ right.

"So, does it mean—" I scrunch up my face; I_ really _don't wanna say it. "So does that mean you guys, _um_, does that mean you guys _do it_?" That's when Daddy sputters, and his face gets real red. Papa's laughing again, but I really don't see what's so funny.

"I think, _mon cheri_, that is a talk for another time."

I grumble that it's not fair, and it really isn't, but I know they're not gonna explain any more. Not even Papa, and not even if I whine and beg and tell them that I had a bad dream.

They get up to leave, telling me goodnight and kissing me on the forehead.

I know it doesn't matter anyhow, cause I'm pretty sure I already know. That's why Dad's face got red, and that's why Papa didn't want to tell me.

Adults never wanna tell you anything good.

I figure they still aren't faggots, even if they do have s-e-x with each other. I guess they're gay, but that still doesn't really make any sense to me. It 'specially don't make sense to why someone would say that it makes _me _like that. 'Cause kids don't even do that kinda thing. Doing_ it _is for grown ups. I almost feel sorta bad for'em, the grown-ups, I mean.

It's probably just something that grown-ups _have_ to do, like eating food or pooping. It's probably not even their fault. For once, I'm really glad I'm not a grown up. I don't wanna think about doing_ it _with anyone, it's just so gross. It kind of funny now, because Mattie slept through the whole thing; Mattie always misses the good stuff.

I wonder if maybe I can use this information to my advantage somehow. Usually if you know something that makes Daddy get red in the face, you can get something out of it. And I really need that new pair of red-and-white Sketchers from the other day. They light up when you walk on them, and shoes that light up are _definitely_ for heroes.

And as you can see, I _really_ am a Hero.

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End file.
